


The Adventures of Ansley Holmes

by DisenchantedHeartache



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:19:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisenchantedHeartache/pseuds/DisenchantedHeartache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ansley Holmes has a colorful past, but her abilities to make deductions are just as good as both of her brother's. What was supposed to be a quick visit to Sherlock's flat quickly turns into more as she is roped into helping Sherlock and John solve crimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Great Game 1

I was on my way up to 221b when a man whom I presumed to be Doctor John Watson rushed past me while muttering his apologies. By the look of things he was irritated. Who could blame him? One generally becomes irritated when being around my brother all day. I made my way up to the flat.   
“What have you done to my bloody wall?!” Mrs. Hudson had, no doubt had her flat fall victim to the work of a bored Sherlock. At least it wasn’t the heroin again. “I’m putting this on your rent, young man!” She exclaimed when she walked past me. “Oh hello dear,” she had caught a glimpse of me “Maybe you can cheer him up.”  
“Oh Mrs. Hudson, you and I both know that won’t happen without a murder.” She smiled at me and retreated downstairs. I had no longer gotten into the flat when I was unexpectedly thrown against the wall with great force.  
There had been an explosion across the street. The windows were blown out and everything in the flat was disheveled. “Well Sherlock, this isn’t exactly how I had pictured our visit going.” I held my hand out waiting for him to help me up, and as always he was there.   
“What exactly are you doing here Ansley?”   
“Visiting my big brother. Did I not just say that?”  
“You’re not working for Mycroft again, are you? Wait-“ He began to walk around me. I pursed my lips, knowing he was going to try and size me up as usual. “No, you’re not. So that again begs the question of why you are here.”  
“I told you, Sherlock, I came for a visit. I was in the area.”  
He looked at me with his cold stare. He didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Lovely, the police are here.”  
Detective Inspector Lestrade entered the room then. He and I weren’t on the friendliest of terms. I greeted him with a nod and walked into the kitchen where another officer was present to take my statement of what happened. Given my state, I invited myself to stay for the evening knowing that Sherlock had upset Doctor Watson enough to know that he was not coming back this night.   
The next morning the police were still all around the building across the street where the explosion had originated. Sherlock and I were in the living room, still not speaking when Mycroft gifted us with his presence.  
“Hello Ansley. I hadn’t expected to see you here.”  
“Mycroft.” He wasn’t there for me and our relationship, too, had been strained since he almost had me killed last year. Now wasn’t the time for that however. He was here for Sherlock. He had a case and of course it would be of utmost importance.   
For almost an hour I watched as the police worked diligently on investigating the explosion. Mycroft was rambling on about “National Importance”. I noticed a cab pull up. Doctor Watson had returned. He had likely seen what had happened on the telly. He was ever fond of Sherlock. However strange his fascination was, at least I knew Sherlock was being taken care of.   
A few moments later John burst through the door, “Sherlock. Sherlock!”   
The men had stopped talking and we were all looking at a rather distressed and panicked John Watson. Still lazily messing with his Violin, Sherlock finally paid attention to John. “John.” He said in a calmer tone than John’s.   
“I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?”   
“Gas leak.” Sherlock and I said at the same time. This drew attention to myself and as if it were clockwork John asked for an introduction. I joined the men and extended my hand out to John, “Ansley Holmes, Dr. Watson. A pleasure.” He shook my hand and had a quick glance at my brothers before looking back at me and letting go of my hand.   
“I had no idea you had a sister, Sherlock. It’s nice to meet you. And you know who I am?”  
“Of course I do Dr. Watson. I follow your blog.”   
Mycroft and Sherlock resumed their conversation, “I can’t.” Sherlock said bluntly.  
“’Can’t’”  
“The stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.” Sherlock was still focused on his violin. He was also lying. Not only did I actually follow John’s blog, but it was also written all over his face. He had nothing going on. The wall had suffered for that already. I remained quiet though. Mycroft never could pick up on Sherlock’s lying.   
“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of National Importance.” Mycroft stated  
Sherlock plucked on his violin, obviously ignoring Mycroft. “How’s the diet?”  
“Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John. I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.”  
John was confused by everyone thinking that he had some sort of power over Sherlock and his decisions.   
“If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?” Sherlock asked.   
“No, no, no, no, no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time- not with the Korean elections so.. Well now you don’t need to know about that, do you?” He had left his seat and was closing in on the door, “Besides, a case like this – it requires… legwork.”   
Sherlock continued to ignore Mycroft with his violin, and evaluating the night that John had. “How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?”  
“Sofa.” I stated.   
“Yes, sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.” Mycroft chimed in.   
“Yes, of course.”  
John looked at us. He was in disbelief that all three Holmes children had this incredible, yet very annoying, gift of deduction. “How…? Oh never mind.”  
“Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you and he became… pals.” Mycroft moved closer to the door, stopping to hand me a file. “What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.”  
“I’m never bored.” John mused.  
“Good! That’s good isn’t it? Look over the file, find the plans. Don’t make me order you. Goodbye Sherlock, John, Ansley. I’ll be seeing you very soon.” With that he left the flat.   
I began to flip through the file. Andrew West, or “Westie” was a civil servant that had been found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning. His head had been bashed in.   
“Jumped in front of train?” John chimed in. I had been unaware that I was talking aloud.   
“Seems the logical explanation at first glance, but there are top secret missile plans that are missing. They were on a memory stick…” I was cut off by the sound of John’s laughter.   
“That wasn’t very clever.” He smiled, but his smile faded when he looked at my still very serious face.   
“It wasn’t the only copy, Dr. Watson. But they are apparently very important, and missing.” I turned to Sherlock with expectations that he would begin working on the case. When he remained in his chair, both unmoving and uninterested I cleared my throat. “You lied. You have not a single case. So take this one.”  
“You don’t know that I don’t have a case.” He threw a look my way.   
“Don’t I? Dr. Watson?”  
John took a moment looking to me and then to Sherlock several times before sighing and siding with me. “She’s right Sherlock. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?”  
“Why shouldn’t I?” His phone began to ring. When he answered John looked to me. I just shook my head, knowing I was about to get roped into something I would rather stay out of.   
Sherlock hung up the phone and looked to John. “Lestrade. I’ve been summoned.” He smiled wildly as he shot out of his chair. He was almost to the stairs when he asked John if he was coming along. John, of course, agreed and they were gone in a flash. No longer had I sat on the couch and began going through the file did I hear Sherlock’s voice from downstairs, “Coming, sister?”


	2. The Great Game 2

An envelope addressed to Sherlock Holmes was sitting on Lestrade’s desk. He had just finished telling us that the explosion across the street had not been a gas leak. That explained why the police were there for so long this morning.   
“So all that was left of the place was this envelope addressed to Sherlock?” I asked, knowing the answer already. On occasion I enjoyed feeling the way the rest of the world did. Lestrade never found it as amusing as I did and simply looked at me before carrying on his conversation.   
“We’ve X-rayed it. It’s not booby-trapped.”   
“How reassuring.” I mocked. Much louder than I had intended to. My sophistication was getting away from me. While Sherlock examined and opened his envelope, I took a moment to look around Lestrade’s office. His desk was in complete disarray. His mind has been somewhere other than work for the past week at least. Lestrade was generally organized and most everything stayed the way it was. The picture of his wife was moved slightly, whatever was bothering him was likely to start with her.   
“You have one new message.” The voice alert from the cell phone that had been in the envelope snapped me back to reality. Everyone was fixated on Sherlock as he listened to the message that consisted of the Greenwich Time signal pips. There were five. It was a warning.   
A photo message came through after that. Five pips and a picture that I couldn’t make out from this distance. Sherlock’s wish was about to come true.   
“What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!” Lestrade’s voice boomed through the office.   
“It’s a warning.” Sherlock spat as he examined the photo message.   
“A warning?” John asked. Though his question was genuine, I was becoming bored of the question game. I sighed and decided to explain.   
“Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips.” I waited while everyone watched. No one seemed to be getting it. “They’re warning us it’s going to happen again.”  
Sherlock jumped up and ran to the door, “I’ve seen this place before.”   
John grabbed his coat ready to follow. “H-Hang on. What’s gonna happen again?”  
Sharing in my frustrations, Sherlock turned to John and moved his arms is large gesture, “Boom!”   
Sherlock was already in a cab by the time I caught up to them. Lestrade grabbed my wrist, waving for them to go ahead. The cab pulled off. I faced Lestrade, wondering why it was he kept me behind. The only logical explanation was that he wanted to have a “serious conversation”. We had far too many serious conversations for a casual affair.   
I tried not to let my mind calm from the excitement in the office. This was the most fun I had in months since my “leave” from the Secret Service began. “What is it Greg?” I paid attention to the direction the cab was going in.  
I had already started walking in the direction of Baker Street when the sound of my heels clicking along the concrete was met by the sound of Greg’s shoes. “You aren’t returning my calls.”  
“I’ve been busy.” I picked up the pace as I made my way across the street. “I thought Jane had gotten better. Why have you been calling?”   
He slowed his walk down. I did the same, assuming this was important. His voice was low, “I told her.”  
A smile crept, uncontrollably, over my face. I began to walk again, “Well Greg, I was beginning to think you didn’t have it in you.” I threw a glance back at him. We were almost to Baker Street now. “There will be no divorce I hope.”  
“Its been a long week, but she has agreed to work on things.” He cleared his throat. How cute, he was breaking up with me. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…”  
“This was never anything, Greg.” I caught a look of surprise on his face, “Oh! Right, now I understand. You thought you were about to break my heart. Hoping that I would continue on, pining after you so that when it happens again, and you need a good shag, you could come back to me guilt free?”   
In that moment the entire conversation changed. The sorrow in his voice turned to anger. “You know, you don’t know everything Ansley Holmes. You may be just as good as Sherlock in deducing and solving crimes, but you don’t know every bloody thing about me! Now this, this was real for me, but now its over and there won’t be any coming back to you, for any reason.” He began to walk back to the station, but he turned back to me, “I fell in love with you. This breaks my heart.”   
I turned away from him and finished my journey back to 221b Baker Street.


	3. The Great Game 3

I finally found them at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in the morgue.   
“Text from your brother.” I heard John say as I entered the room.   
Sherlock was looking at something in a microscope, he muttered “Delete it.”  
“Delete it?” John asked. I walked over taking the phone from him.   
“Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it.”  
I was going through his text messages, “He’s texted you eight times. He thinks it’s important.”  
Sherlock stifled a chuckle, “Then tell me sister, if it is so important, why didn’t he cancel his dentist appointment?” He had been right.   
“What?” John was confused, which knowing him the short amount of time I had, I wasn’t at all surprised by this.   
“Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?” The computer beeped after that causing Sherlock to move with excitement.   
Molly Hooper, the main technician in the morgue welcomed herself into the room then. Not long after, a man named Jim entered the room as well. The way he moved and the way he spoke lead me to find it hard to believe that he would be interested in Molly, or any other woman for that matter. Sherlock and I both muttered the only descriptive word we could. “Gay” No one heard me, but their proximity to Sherlock made Molly’s ear peak.  
After the man had left, first confirming a date with Molly later that night, an obvious ploy, Molly began asking Sherlock what he meant. Dodging the question he brought attention to the amount of weight she had gained. No one could ever call him a liar.   
The conversation and explanation of Jim’s sexual orientation ended with Sherlock providing Molly with the phone number Jim had conveniently slipped under a bowl to Sherlock’s right. Molly, being clearly upset saw her way out of the room.  
Once she was gone, John saw fit to scold Sherlock on his behavior, “Charming, well done.”   
Sherlock rolled his eyes momentarily, “Just saving her time. Isn’t that kinder?”   
“Kinder? No, no Sherlock. That,” he pointed toward the door molly had left out of, “wasn’t kind.”  
Sherlock ignored John’s scolding and inviting him to take a look. In between fighting about John’s ability to be a fresh eye to Sherlock’s investigating they took the time to fill me in on finding the trainers that were sitting next to the computer and the woman that was being held hostage. John voiced his opinion on how poorly Sherlock was treating the woman’s current situation.   
The bickering went on until Sherlock made his shocking discovery. “Carl Powers”  
I dropped what I was doing, “What?” I asked, almost disbelieving what I had heard.   
“Sorry, who?” John asked.   
“Carl Powers, John. It’s where I began.”   
We hailed a cab and got on our way back to their flat.   
The entire ride was explaining to John who Carl Powers was, and why the event surrounding his death had always seemed like more than a simple drowning to Sherlock. Mycroft and I had always assumed he was trying to make more of it than there was. Everyone else had felt the same. These shoes would seem to have proved him right.   
Back at the flat John was making a fuss over wanting to help do something knowing that we were running out of time. We knew there was a woman being held hostage, and our lack of enthusiasm about saving her seemed to bother him a great deal.   
John’s mobile went off, “Your brother. He’s texting me now.” He pulled his phone away from his face. “How does he know my number?”  
“May I?” I asked while reaching for his phone. He handed it over. Mycroft was asking him about the West case. “What d’you think, Sherlock? Root canal?” I mused while sending a message back.   
“Root canal.” He agreed.   
I returned the phone back to John and decided to check my own. Mycroft had been texting me as well. These were more demanding than the ones John, or even Sherlock, had received. “Get him to find the plans.” “Do it NOW, Ansley.” “This is more important than anything he has now.” In the sea of Mycroft’s texts there were a few from Greg. Our early conversation had not satisfied him. “Dinner. Tonight. We need to talk.” I decided it was best not to reply.   
“I’m putting my best man onto it right now.” Sherlock stated.   
“Right. Good!” John exclaimed, then he cleared his throat “Who’s that?”  
Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him. John, though he lacked basic observation skills, was the best man Sherlock had. “Go with him.” He commanded once John had left the room.   
“What did Lestrade keep you back for?” John asked, attempting to break the somewhat uncomfortable silence between us.   
I smiled to myself as I looked out the window of the cab. I looked at John for a moment. Until now, I had never looked at him directly. He was rather attractive. I snapped myself back to reality, “He decided to break off our affair, Dr. Watson.”  
He was taken slightly aback. “Affair… Really?” He took a moment to process the information “Please, just call me John.” I nodded indicating that I would do as he asked. I watched as he shifted in his seat. It was doubtful that he had expected me to be so honest.   
The rest of the cab ride was silent, words only being exchanged when John opened my door for me. We had arrived in the one place I had hoped we would avoid.   
Mycroft’s office.


	4. The Great Game 4

The meeting with Mycroft had been boring. He reminded me on several instances that this was not anything that I had to help with, which at first I had associated with my current leave in employment.   
“My injuries are none of your concern. I am more than capable of keeping up with Sherlock.”  
“You’re right, your injuries are not my concern, sister dear.”  
I smiled at him knowing exactly why he didn’t want me to help. The Secret Service had a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. His concern was not for me or whether I could keep up, but what I would do with the missile plans if I were to find them instead of Sherlock.   
“I don’t enjoy putting people in danger.” With that I left John to continue his questioning. When he was finished he met me outside and hailed a cab for us.   
The whole ride back to Baker Street was uncomfortable. The question was almost falling out of John’s mouth, yet he wouldn’t ask. I felt it best to keep quiet.   
“Poison.” Sherlock stated plainly as Mrs. Hudson, John, and I all entered the room.   
“What are you going on about?” Mrs. Hudson asked, setting some tea down on the table. It had been a long day and the tea was a welcome break.   
“Clostridium botulinum!” Sherlock boomed from the living room.   
“One of the deadliest poisons on the planet. And undetectable if it isn’t looked for.” I added in.   
“Wait, so you’re saying that Carl Powers was murdered?” John gushed.   
Sherlock went into detail about Carl having eczema and the killer, most likely our bomber, had introduced the poison into Carl’s medicine, ultimately causing his drowning.   
“Right, then. You’ve solved the mystery. How do you let the bomber know?” I questioned. The number that had called before was unknown, as the men had told me earlier.   
It was clockwork. The mobile rang, on the other end was the woman. She was allowed to ask for rescue.   
We, rather I, had received word that the woman was found and that she was safe now. I also received another invitation for dinner. I respectfully declined.  
“Sherlock, I do believe it is time for me to go home now.” It was later than I had hoped and despite the fact that Mycroft would pester me to make sure Sherlock was working on his missile case I was ready to get myself out of this crazy situation.   
“You should stay here tonight.” He gestured to the back of the flat, “You can take my bed.”  
“And clothes?” I knew why he wanted me to stay. The bomber was keeping a close eye on him, meaning he was keeping a close eye on all of us. “I didn’t plan on staying last night, I didn’t bring anything else to wear. You had to loan me pajamas.”  
“John will take you.” I looked over at John. His expression was nonchalant, he wasn’t going to mind this venture.   
“I find you interesting.” John called from the living room of my flat.   
“Is that so, Dr. Watson?” I called back while packing necessities for a long stay.   
John entered my room then, “It is. You are similar, yet so different to Sherlock. You long for human interaction. That’s why you came for a visit when you did. Your relationship with Lestrade had ended. You were lonely and you needed someone to be around.”  
His words, however shocking to hear, were true. “Well done, John. Is that the only reason I interest you?” I placed my bag on the bed, moving closer to John.   
“Um, well. You…” He began to let his nerves get the best of him as I closed the space between us, leaving barely a foot. “You, are much neater than Sherlock is…” He stumbled over his words looking for any other reason than the truth.   
I smiled at him momentarily and his eyes wondered over me, “Excuse me, John.” I whispered in his ear. It took him a moment, but he finally comprehended what I had said and moved out of the way. “Oh! I’m sorry.”   
I made my way down the hall to the bathroom, smiling wickedly at what had just transpired.   
The next morning we found ourselves in Lestrade’s office again. I was sitting behind his desk. The picture of his wife had been straightened. As a matter of fact, his whole desk had been cleaned. He still didn’t go home last night.  
The mood in the room changed when the mobile rang. This time there were only four Greenwich Time pips. The first test had been passed. A picture of, what appeared to be and abandoned car came through in the photo messenger.   
“I’ll check if its been reported.” Greg rushed to his desk, I slid out of the way. Within this time a female officer came in.   
She held a phone out to Sherlock, “Freak, its for you.”   
Sherlock took the phone from her and placed it on speaker. There was a man’s voice. He was shaken, and another borrowed voice. He relayed that we had eight hours to solve this mystery.   
Greg had located the car and just like that we were off. I went in Greg’s car while Sherlock and John took a cab.   
“You refused to meet me for dinner.”  
“It is pointless to drag this out.” I looked at him, “It broke your heart? You’re the married one. Be reasonable. Go home. Work things out with your wife.”  
The rest of the car ride was filled with silence and failed attempts from Greg to say something to me.   
When we arrived I found the woman from earlier talking to John. Donovan was her name, I had worked with her previously while I was still stationed at New Scotland Yard. She was also having an affair with the lead medical examiner, Anderson. When John had finished talking to her, he went and found Sherlock. I, however, was not a fan of how she spoke to my brother and it was time for us to have a chat. Woman to woman.   
I pulled her to the side. She looked all but amused, “What is it now Holmes?”  
“I rather dislike when my family is disrespected, especially in front of me.” She opened her mouth to speak but I put my hand up to stop her, “You and Anderson are doing really well. His wife is away a lot and doesn’t suspect that you spend more time in her bed than she does, but she will if you speak to my brother in that manner again. I will give her every reason to distrust her husband, and I will make it look as if you did it all. I will take everything away from you. My brother is to be respected as anyone else you work with. Is that understood?” I straightened my posture and my skirt, waiting for a reply “You may speak now.”  
She glared at me for no more than a moment and left to rejoin the rest of the police force. They were gathered around the car while Sherlock investigated the inside. To the untrained eye, this would appear to be a cut and dry case. Missing driver, car abandoned with what appears to be the driver’s blood covering the seat. There was something more though. The bomber would not have directed Sherlock here if it were that simple.   
When Sherlock had finished his investigation, he made an attempt to talk to the missing man’s wife. There wasn’t much there, except for her referring to her husband in the past tense. Sherlock had started and she picked up almost immediately.   
After he got what he needed from her we were walking back to the opening of the dock where the car had been dumped, Sherlock flashed a card to Janus Cars that he swiped from the glove compartment. And we were off again.  
“Sherlock,” I said as we passed time in the cab, “We have an eye on Janus Cars as well. This could be big for everyone.”  
He wasn’t interested. My work with the Secret Service had always felt like a waste of talent to him. We should all waste away working on nonsense cases and barely paying our bills.   
Investigating at Janus Cars didn’t take long. Sherlock knew what he was looking for while talking to Mr. Ewert, the last person to interact with Mr. Monkford, our missing man.   
“Mr. Ewert is a liar.” Sherlock said as we entered another cab. The mobile rang again. This time Sherlock kept it personal. “The clue is in the name,” he said when the call ended.


	5. The Great Game 5

We were almost back to the flat when the clue the bomber had given became apparent to me. “Sherlock?” He ignored me. “Sherlock!”  
“What?!” He looked from the window back to me.   
“The clue is in the name… Janus. The God with two faces.” I said smiling.   
His eyes lit up when he realized what I was saying. “Brilliant!” he mused, “New Scotland Yard instead.” He said to the cabbie.   
Within minutes we were all storming into Lestrade’s office, again. Greg was startled by our intrusion. “What the bloody hell are you three doing here? Didn’t you just leave?”  
“How much blood was on that seat, would you say?” Sherlock asked him.  
“How much? About a pint.” He stood up from his chair.   
“Not ‘about’. Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood is definitely Ian Munkford’s but it’s been frozen.   
“Now how you could you possible know it’s been frozen?”  
Sherlock sighed and continued, “There are clear signs. I think Ian Munkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago,”  
Greg cut him off, “And that is what was spread over the seat. But who did it?”  
“Janus Cars.” I chimed in. “The clue is in the name.”  
“The God with two faces. That is what you were talking about earlier.” John said.   
I nodded to him while Sherlock continued on, “They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat...”  
“So where is he?” John asked.   
“Columbia.”  
“Columbia?!” Lestrade was flabbergasted.   
“Mr. Ewert of Janus cars had a twenty thousand Columbian peso note in his wallet, and quite a bit of change, too.”  
“He said he hadn’t been abroad. I assumed he was lying.” I stated.   
“When I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly.”   
“No one wears a shirt in a sunbed. This makes sense. Especially with his arm now that I think about it.”  
“His arm?” Greg asked.   
“He kept scratching it. Obviously irritated him, and bleeding.” Sherlock continued on before anyone else could interrupt him, “Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars.”  
“Mrs. Monkford?” John asked.   
“Oh yes, she’s in on it too.” Sherlock turned to Greg, “Now go and arrest them, Inspector. We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved.” Sherlock began leaving the office, “I am on fire!” He yelled.   
Sherlock was successful in reaching the bomber through his rather ridiculous website.   
John and I were sitting in the living room as Sherlock was pacing around waiting for another call. “Fancy some lunch?” He asked me as he stood.   
I stood too, “That would be wonderful. Sherlock?”   
Still pacing he waved his hand at us. He would never eat and work.   
We left Sherlock in the flat and headed down to Speedy’s. John figured it would be close enough for us to relax and still be able to rush back if Sherlock contacted us with anything new.   
John went on about how long the day had been and how he had never done anything like this with Sherlock before. All of their cases had been rather short or if they weren’t short they had a longer amount of time to work. The more he spoke the more I became fascinated with him. He interested me, perhaps not the same way I interested him, but there was something there.   
“Feeling better?” I asked after he had eaten half of his meal. I however had barely touched mine. Something felt off about this whole ordeal.   
John made a light humming noise for a moment, “You realize we have hardly stopped for a breath since this thing started?” I nodded with an apologetic smile. Perhaps John had picked up on what I was feeling. “Has it occurred to you, or him for that matter, that the bomber is playing a game with him? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid’s shoes – It’s all meant for him.”  
“John, if you’ve noticed and if I have noticed, you know he knows.”   
“D’you think it is Moriarty?”   
“The man from your blog? Sherlock’s biggest fan? Could be.” I heard a familiar voice over the telly. Connie Prince. I wasn’t big on watching television, but I did enjoy watching her make-overs every once in a while.   
John’s mobile went off, a text from Sherlock. It was time to go.   
When we arrived back upstairs, Sherlock was listening as an older woman spoke. Another hostage no doubt. “I’ll give you… twelve hours.”  
“Why are you doing this?” Sherlock asked.   
“I like to watch you dance.” The phone hung up then.   
He showed John and me the photo, Connie Prince. How convenient.   
The three of us ended up at the morgue, with Greg, again. For two people who had recently ended a yearlong affair, we were spending more time with each other than before. I, for one, would be glad when all of this was over. Being the prim and proper woman I was raised to be, I made sure that none of my distain for our current situation was visible.   
Sherlock was examining the body while Greg stayed toward the back with me. John and Sherlock concluded that the cut that supposedly introduced the tetanus into her system, the same tetanus that was the cause of her death, was made post mortem.   
“How did the tetanus enter her system?” Sherlock turned to John, “You both want to help, right?”  
John answered for both of us, “Yes, of course.”  
“Connie Prince’s background – family history, everything. Give me data.”  
“Off I go.” I smiled at Greg before pushing myself away from the counter and following John out of the room.   
“Does he know, then?” John asked as I was catching up to him.  
“Who Sherlock? About Greg and I.” I took a moment. “He must, but my private affairs are really none of his business. Plus, he doesn’t care about trivial things.”  
“Yes. Just like he didn’t care to know the Earth revolved around the Sun.”   
“That is my brother, John. I assumed you would know this by now.”


	6. The Great Game 6

John and I decided that the best way to get Sherlock the data he wanted was to go straight to the source. Kenny Price.  
We were lead into a small sitting room by Mr. Price. We took a seat while he stood, rather posed, by the mantle. “We’re devastated. Of course we are.” Kenny started.   
“Could I get you anything, sir? Ma’am?” A second man asked us. I assumed he was the houseboy.   
John looked to me and I shook my head, “No, no thank you.” He answered. A cat had jumped into my lap and made its way over to John.  
“Raoul is my rock. I don’t think I could have managed.” Kenny said as Raoul left the room. “We didn’t always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me.”  
The cat returned after John had, awkwardly moved it out of the way. “And – and to the public Mr. Prince.” He assured Kenny.   
“Oh she was adored. I’ve seen her take girls that looked like the end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses,” he paused for a moment, “Still, it’s a relief in a way to know she is beyond this veil of tears.”  
Despite all efforts, the cat had returned itself to John’s lap and made itself comfortable. “Absolutely.” I spoke up with a sympathetic smile.   
John began to talk about the events surrounding Connie’s death. “Its more common than people think. The tetanus in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un…” John trailed off as Kenny plopped down beside him. The sofa was really only big enough for two, so my decision to get up a while early to look around the room had been good for me, but had placed john in yet another awkward situation. “Treated…” he continued.   
Kenny cut him off rather quickly, “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I mean she has left me this place, which is lovely, but its just not the same without her.”   
I rejoined the two, “That’s why our paper wanted to get the full story straight from the horse’s mouth. You’re sure it isn’t too soon?”   
Kenny redirected his attention to me, “No.” he stated plainly. He fancied John.   
“Right,” John said while pulling out his notepad and a pen.   
Kenny focused on John again. “You fire away.” He said, almost seductively.   
The cat had moved itself off John’s lap and ran across the room. John rubbed his nose, returning his hand there to sniff. “Would you, um, excuse us for a moment?”   
Kenny nodded and nodded for me to come with him outside. There he phoned Sherlock and told him to bring a camera and be quite quick. He wouldn’t tell me what he was onto, but I suspected he thought it had something to do with the cat. I couldn’t tell, so I knew it would be best to wait for Sherlock.   
We went back in the house and decided to have some tea. We talked endlessly about Connie’s show and exactly how Kenny had felt about his sister badgering him. I didn’t think he was the one that killed her. He was too upset. A killer is never genuinely upset and to fake it is even harder.   
Finally Sherlock arrived, rushing through the kitchen, “That’ll be him.” John said putting his tea cup on the table and standing up.   
Kenny, who was fixing his hair in the mirror turned abruptly. “What?”  
Sherlock introduced himself and gave what he would consider condolences. He and John came back to the couch, preparing the camera and giving John enough time to tell Sherlock that the bacteria had entered her body another way. He then proceeded to take awful pictures of Kenny until the cat began rubbing up against his leg.   
“Oh, who’s this?” Sherlock asked looking down at the feline.   
“Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian Goddess.” Kenny answered.  
“How nice! Was she Connie’s?” Sherlock continued.  
“Yes.” Kenny answered while reaching down to pick her up, “Little present from yours truly.”  
John signaled for Sherlock to set the flash off giving him a chance to touch the cat’s paws, smelling his hand afterward.   
Through Kenny’s yelling, John announced our departure “Actually, I think we’ve got what we came for. Excuse us.” He began to leave the room, grabbing my hand to lead me out in the process, “Sherlock.” He called, “We’ve got deadlines.”   
Once we were outside, he let go of my hand and began to get excited, “Yes!” He exclaimed. “Oh yes.” He was laughing as we made our way down the street.  
“You think it was the cat. It wasn’t the cat.” Sherlock explained.   
John’s look went from that of a lottery winner to someone who had just been told there was no Santa, “What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It’s how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.”   
“It’s a wonderful idea, Dr. Watson.” I added.   
“No,” he began to get flustered, “he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It’s a new pet, bound to be jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn’t have…”  
Sherlock cut him off, “I thought of it the moment I saw the scratches on her arm, but it’s too random, too clever for the brother.”  
“It wasn’t the brother, Sherlock. He was too genuine.”  
John looked at me. “It had to be, he murdered her sister for her money.”  
“Did he?” I asked.   
“Didn’t he?” He questioned back.   
“No.” Sherlock answered. “It was revenge.”  
“Revenge? Who wanted revenge?” John asked. His voice getting higher pitched.   
“Raoul.” Sherlock and I chimed at the same time, he continued from there. “Kenny Price was the butt of his sister’s jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It’s all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had become accustomed to a certain lifestyle…”  
“No, wait, wait,” John stood in front of us making us stop. “Wait a second. What about the disinfectant on the cat’s claws?”  
“Raoul keeps a very clean house. We came in through the kitchen, saw the floor. It was scrubbed to within an inch of its life. We smell of disinfectant.” I told him.   
Sherlock continued on, “The cat doesn’t come into it.” We began walking again finally reaching the end of the street, “but Raoul’s internet records do. I hope we can get a cab from here.”  
Instead of going with the men, I opted to get another cab and return to Sherlock and John’s flat. I did smell of disinfectant and it was overbearing to me. I was in desperate need of a shower.   
Once I was showered, they still hadn’t returned. I was starving, so I figured I would make dinner and hopefully they would be back by then. Of course they were out of everything except for a head, so I was going to have to take a trip to the market.   
When I returned, they were back but there was something off. Both looked upset and when I asked if either of them wanted something to eat, Sherlock went to his room and John sat in his chair and declined. I was no longer as hungry as I thought I was.   
I sat in Sherlock’s chair across from John. “What’s wrong?”   
He refused to look at me. He just stared at the wall. After a few moments he broke the silence, “He killed her.”  
“The hostage?”  
“Yes the bloody hostage!” he snapped, “She was an old woman, too.” He was glaring at me, “But that means nothing to him, or to you, does it?!” He stormed upstairs, returning a few minutes later.   
I was still seated, in awe of what had just happened. The old woman had died and somehow it was my fault that Sherlock didn’t care. Or so he thought. He sat across from me again.   
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He almost whispered. “It’s… It’s been a long day and now a woman has been murdered.”  
“Its fine, Dr. Watson.” I was unintentionally cold to him. “I’m sure my brother cares more than he lets on. This probably isn’t easy for him either.”  
“I’ve asked that you call me John,” he joked trying to get his apology across, “Are you staying here tonight.”  
“Sherlock would prefer I did,” I finally looked at him.   
“Right. It seems he has gone to bed. You can have my bed, I’ll take the couch.” He smiled at me.   
“Thank you, John. I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I’ll take the couch.” I realized that all my clothes were locked in Sherlock’s room. “Could I ask for a favor?”  
John returned downstairs with a pair of pajama bottoms, a shirt, and a jumper. “It gets cold sometimes, I brought the jumper just in case. I grabbed a pillow and blanket, too. It isn’t a problem for me to take the couch.”  
I thanked him again for the offer and for the clothing. He was back upstairs when I came out of the bathroom. The couch wasn’t so terrible, and sleep was welcome.


	7. The Great Game 7

I woke up much later than I was accustomed to. The news was playing in the background, but I woke to the sound of John and Sherlock fighting. By the time I opened my eyes it seemed they had finished whatever it was they were fighting about. From John’s outburst last night, I could only assume it was about the woman that had died. Not only that, but that was the top news story of the hour.   
“Don’t make people into heroes John. Hero’s don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.”  
John looked at me, just now realizing I was awake. He was about to speak when the bomber’s mobile went off.   
“Excellent!” Sherlock’s voice boomed through the flat. “View of the Thames. South bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You check the papers, I’ll look online.” John looked away from me and glared at Sherlock. “Oh, you’re angry with me, so you won’t help.” His voice was considerably lower than before. He was mocking him.   
“Oh stop it Sherlock. I’ll check the bloody papers.” I sat up, promptly scooting over to have a better choice of papers. John sat next to me and grabbed a paper.   
“Archway suicide.” John said.   
“Ten a penny,” Sherlock mumbled.   
“Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West.”  
“Nothing!” Sherlock boomed again. He dialed a number, Lestrade’s I suspected as he was asking about the photo.   
They were off in a matter of minutes. I opted to stay behind, telling Sherlock I would look further into the West case. He was adamant about me not leaving the flat, but he also knew Mycroft was getting impatient.   
After lunch I changed and headed out to West’s fiancé’s house. John had told me that West was there the night he died.   
I knocked on the door and a woman answered. “Lucy? I’m Ansley Holmes. I’m investigating the death of your fiancé, Andrew West.”  
She was taken aback for a moment. “Oh? Come in please.”   
Lucy led me into the sitting room and offered me a place on the couch. “He wouldn’t do it. He just wouldn’t.”  
“Stranger things have happened.”   
She was visible angered by my statement, “Westie wasn’t a traitor. It’s a horrible thing to say!”  
I had heard the same thing several times from my work in the secret service. Parents not wanting to believe their children were murderers, wives saying their husbands could be capable of despicable acts, “I’m sorry. But you must understand that’s…”  
“That’s what they think, isn’t it, his bosses?”  
“He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts…” I looked down at my hands.   
For the first time, I was hoping this man was who she believed he was. She had so much faith in him, “Everyone’s got debts, Ms. Holmes, and Westie wouldn’t want to clear them by selling out his country.”  
“Could you just tell me about exactly what went on that night?”  
She looked to the mantle, “We were just having a night in. Just watching a DVD.” She looked back at me, “He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he had to go and see someone.”  
This was what I had been waiting for, “And you’ve no idea who?”  
She shook her head and we sat in silence for a moment as she cried. She loved this man dearly.   
“I believe I have everything I need from you Lucy. I should be on my way.”  
She led me back outside where greeted by a man with a bicycle, “Oh, hi Luce. You okay, love?”  
She smiled at the man, “Yeah.”   
“Who’s this?” The man asked.   
“Ansley Holmes. Hello.” I extended my hand to him, he only looked me up and down.   
“This is my brother, Joe. Ansley is trying to figure out what happened to Westie too, Joe.” Lucy told him.  
“You with the police?” Joe shook my hand.  
“Something like that, yeah.” I said.   
“Well, tell ‘em to get off their arses, will you? Its bloody ridiculous.”  
“I’m doing my best.” With that Joe went into the house, throwing one more dirty look my way. I straightened myself and cleared my throat, “Thank you very much for your help. And again, I am very, very sorry.”   
As I began to walk away she called after me, “He didn’t steal those things, Ms. Holmes. I knew Westie, he was a good man. He was my good man.” She started to cry and retreated back inside.   
By the time I got back to the flat, it was late. Sherlock was already in bed. John was still up, “I was waiting for you to get back. Sherlock was worried.”  
“Sherlock was worried?” I questioned.   
John became slightly flushed, “He had mentioned it.”   
I smiled at him, “I think I may shower. Would it be okay for me to use the clothes you loaned me last night, again?”   
He smiled and nodded, “Yeah, go ahead. I think I may be up for a while, is that going to bother you?”  
“No, John. I’m not in the mood to go to sleep either.”  
After my shower, John was still in his chair typing on his blog. He stopped as soon as I entered the room. “Please, don’t let me distract you.” I said as I curled into Sherlock’s chair.   
“I’d rather talk to you instead of type all night.”   
“How are things with,” Her name had escaped me.   
“Sarah? They’re fine.” He looked away. “Talked to Greg any?”  
I chuckled a bit, “No. That’s why I stayed back today. I’m tired of seeing him.”  
My bluntness cause a laugh out of John. “Would you like my bed tonight?”  
“Thank you, but the couch is fine.”   
He smiled and nodded.   
I asked him about the case. Sherlock had obviously solved it in time. He told me the newly found Vermeer painting had been a fake. The security guard had known it was a fake and a golem was hired to take him out. It had been a kid this time, he said. I found myself wincing at the thought. I had never been found of them, but children being in danger didn’t sit well with me.  
We continued to talk for several hours, not noticing that time was passing as fast as it was. Talking to John was nice. My fascination with him grew. The dawn had broken and I was still awake. John had went to bed a few hours before, but I couldn’t sleep.   
“First Lestrade and now John. Is no one safe from you?” Sherlock mocked walking into the sitting room.   
I looked at him, “I’m not trying to sleep with John.”   
He sat in John’s chair as I was still bunched in his. “Anything about West?”  
“I thought you weren’t interested?” He only stared at me, “His fiancé said they were having a night in when West unexpectedly left. I’m going to have a look at the tracks today. Mycroft is getting ill.”  
“Good,” he said. “Take John with you.”  
“Take John where?” John asked as he entered the room.   
“Still investigating that West case for Mycroft. Care to come with me?” I asked.   
“Yeah, sure.”   
We arrived at Battersea Station a little after noon. There was a tube guard who showed us where we needed to be. Once we were there, I let John do most of the detective work. Eventually he realized that West couldn’t have been killed on the line. Sherlock showed up. He had been on the case the entire time. I suppose he just wanted to see what John and I could do without him.  
“Come on,” Sherlock said as he walked away. “Got a bit of burglary to do.”  
We ended up at Joe Harrison’s flat, Lucy’s brother. While we were inside having a look around, he came home. Once he saw us, he knew we had him. We took him into the sitting room. He sat down, a nervous wreck. We all remained standing.   
“It wasn’t meant to...” he paused, placing his head in his hands, “God. What is Lucy going to say? Jesus.”  
“Why did you kill him?” John asked.   
Joe went into a long story about how he had started to deal drugs and that he was in trouble. How he had found out about the missile plans from West at his engagement party. Once he had got him drunk enough he was able to take the plans right off of him. But when he saw him later, he knew that West knew he had taken them. Joe had accidentally pushed West down the stairs, killing him. He later moved his body onto the top of a train. All would have gone well if the track hadn’t curved, throwing West’s body off.   
Sherlock had Joe fetch the memory stick for us. Then we left.   
We went back to the flat. I gathered my things out of Sherlock’s room and returned John’s clothes to him. Sherlock was watching the telly, some horrid show John had shown him, and John was typing away on his blog.   
“I’m going to go home, Sherlock. We haven’t heard anything else from Moriarty. I think this is over.”  
“I agree.” John said, closing his computer and getting up, “I won’t be ‘round for tea. I’m heading to Sarah’s.” He looked to me, “Walk you out, then?”   
I nodded. “Goodbye Sherlock. See you soon.”   
John stayed back a moment to tell Sherlock that they needed milk, then he continued to walk me out. “Good night then.” He smiled at me.   
“Good night, John.”   
We both began on our separate ways when everything went black.


	8. The Great Game 8

When I came to, I was in a room that smelled of chlorine. My hands had been bound tightly. There was a man standing in front of me. His back was turned, and my vision was still a little blurry. I tried to move my body, but everything hurt. My feet were heavier than usual.   
I heard a door open and close. Everything went silent for a moment. The man pulled me to my feet and walked me closer to the door. I almost fell several times. He kept whispering threats in my ear.   
“I will kill you right now if you don’t move faster.” His voice rang through my head. He pulled me harder, causing me to wince with pain.   
Then I heard another voice. A more familiar voice. Sherlock. He was coaxing the man out of our hiding spot. Then everything went silent.   
“John. What the hell…?” I heard Sherlock say. They had John too. They must have grabbed us as soon as we separated. Should have stayed at the flat.   
I could hear as the man who had me kept speaking, but he was never speaking to me. “I can stop John Watson too. I can stop his heart.”   
“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded.   
The door opened a bit, the man grabbed my arm again. Harder each time he had to. “I gave you my number, I thought you might call.” I knew who it was now. Jim, Molly’s “boyfriend”.   
He walked out of the door, revealing himself, and puling me along with him. As we walked along the edge of the pool, my vision began to clear. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Jim asked.   
“Both” Sherlock responded. He took the gun out of his pocket and pointed it a Jim, glancing at me for a moment.   
Jim stopped walking, “Jim Moriarty. Hi!” We began moving again. Each step getting harder and harder for me as my legs felt weighted down. “Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh? Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point.”  
Sherlock looked between John and I. A red dot appeared on my chest.   
“Don’t be silly,” Jim said, “Someone else is holding the riffle. I don’t like getting my hands dirty.” We came to a stop, still next to the pool, behind John. Sherlock was still facing us. My heart rate sped up, involuntarily. My life had been in danger many times, but drowning was my biggest fear. I made the connection to how heavy my legs felt and how close to the pool we were staying.   
“I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see, just like you.”  
Sherlock began mocking him, “’Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister?’ ‘Dear Jim. Will you please fix it for me to disappear to South America?’”  
“Just so.” Jim muse.   
“Consulting criminal. Brilliant.” Sherlock aimed more.   
“Isn’t it?” Jim said. He forced me down, whispering for me to put my feet in the water. The dot moving now to the side of my head. “No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will.”  
Sherlock cocked the gun, “I did.”  
“You’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock blurted.  
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”  
“Yes you did.”  
“Yeah, okay. I did.” Jim’s voice getting higher pitched. “But the flirting’s over, Sherlock. Daddy’s had enough now!” He practically sang the last bit. His footsteps began moving away from me. “I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid to get you to come out to play.” The footsteps stopped. “So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.” He began to move again, “Although I have loved this – this little game of ours. Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like that little touch with the underwear?”  
“People have died.” Sherlock stated.   
“That’s what people DO!” Jim’s voice echoed through the gym. This caused me to jump and sliding a little more into the pool.   
“I will stop you.”  
“No you won’t.” Jim said nonchalantly.   
“You all right?” His voice was low, he was talking to John.  
Jim’s footsteps moved faster, “You can talk Johnny-boy. Go ahead.”   
I didn’t hear anything from John. “What about your precious baby sister? Go ahead, darling. Tell your brother you’re okay.”  
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to move. Jim began yelling again, “TELL HIM!”   
“I’m fine, Sherlock.” My voice was shaky.   
“Take it.” Sherlock blurted.  
“Huh?” Moriarty turned his attention back to Sherlock, “Oh! That! The missile plans. Boring! I could have got them anywhere.” I heard a plop in the pool.   
There was a lot of commotion, I turned to see what was going on. “Sherlock! Run!” John screamed. He had taken hold of Moriarty. Sherlock only stood there.   
Moriarty laughed “Good! Very Good!”  
“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.” John said angrily.   
“Isn’t he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then, people do get sentimental about their pets. They’re so touching, so loyal. But oops!” Moriarty laughed again. “You’ve rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson.” A red dot appeared on Sherlock’s forehead. There were snippers all around the area. We would be lucky if he didn’t kill us all. “Gotcha!”   
John moved back rapidly. He shot a glance at me. There was fear in his eyes.   
Moriarty straightened himself up. The mark had moved off of Sherlock’s head. There was still one visible on John’s chest.   
“D’you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone Sherlock, to you?”  
“Oh, let me guess: I get killed.”  
“Kill you? N-no, don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you one day anyway. I don’t want to rush it though. I’m saving it for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you.” His voice got deeper, “I’ll burn the heart out of you.”  
“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.” Sherlock mused.   
“I think we both know that’s not quite true.” Jim looked back at me. To be honest, everyone looked back at me. My eyes met Sherlock’s. He was defeated. “Well, I’d better be off. So nice to have a proper chat.”  
“What if I were to shoot you now? Right now?” Sherlock asked.   
“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. ‘Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock, I really would. And just a teensy bit,” he paused for a moment. “Disappointed. And of course you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.” Jim walked out of the door next to John and Sherlock.   
We all waited for a moment after the door closed before making a move. I had wiggled the weights off of my feet. My arms had been zip-tied at the elbow. I was able to throw my legs over. Sherlock had pulled the bombs off of John and slid them across the floor.   
Sherlock ran out of the room. John could hardly stand. He rested against the wall. When Sherlock came back in, he was still holding his gun. He made his way over to me, helping me up. We regrouped with John.   
“Are you all right?” He asked us. When we didn’t answer he asked again, yelling slightly, and very panicked. “Are you all right!”  
“Yes.” I told him. I sat down next to John. “Are you okay?” I asked Sherlock.  
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Fine.” He wasn’t fine. “That, er... thing that you, er, that you did. That, um... you offered to do. That was, um... good.” He mumbled to John.   
“I’m glad no one else saw that.” John joked.   
“Hm?” Sherlock asked.   
“You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.”  
“People do little else.” Sherlock said.   
John began to stand when the red marks appeared on all of us again. There were more this time.   
“Sorry, dears! I’m so…” Jim walked back into the room from a door farther back. “Changeable. It is a weakness with me, but to fair to myself, it is my only weakness.”  
Sherlock refused to look at him. John’s breathing was heavy. He placed a hand on my shoulder.   
“You can’t be allowed to continue, “ Jim continued, “You just can’t. I would try to convince you but… everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.”   
Sherlock turned. He pointed his gun back at Jim, “Probably my answer has crossed yours.” He pointed the gun at the explosives he took off of John.   
We stayed in silence for a moment. John’s weight getting heavier, I realized that I was holding him up.   
A song I didn’t recognize started playing. Looking to Jim, his expression is one of anger and frustration. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, the music getting louder. “D’you mind if I get that?”  
“No, no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.” Sherlock said nonchalantly.   
Moriarty answered the phone. He began yelling at the caller. Threatening them. Finally he pulled the phone away from his ear. Getting closer to the bomb that Sherlock was still aiming at, he looked up slowly. “Sorry. Wrong day to die.” He said, turning away from us and moving back to the door that he had entered from, “You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.”  
He snapped his fingers and the marks disappeared, and he was gone. John released the breath he had been holding, “Well. What happened there?”  
“Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?” Sherlock answered.


	9. Scandal 1

Some time had passed since the incident with Moriarty. I had finally gone back to work, leaving my position in the Secret Service and taking an office job with Mycroft. Since my last visit, I had not been back to Sherlock and John’s flat. That didn’t mean that I wasn’t keeping my tabs on them, however. My brother and his companion had been in the public eye more and more these days.   
“I need you to retrieve him, Ansley.” Mycroft was seated in a chair in his office.   
“I will send some agents to do so. He won’t come for you or me.”  
“Get it done.” Mycroft left before me.   
Returning to my office, I put two large, male agents on the task of getting Sherlock and sent a helicopter to get John from a crime scene he had been investigating. I made my way to Buckingham Palace to wait with Mycroft for them to arrive.   
“Here to see the Queen?” I heard John ask as Mycroft and I were walking into the room.   
“Oh, apparently, yes.” Sherlock said causing him and John to go into a fit of laughter.   
“Just once, could you two behave like grown-ups?” Mycroft snapped.   
Sherlock was sitting, his clothes and shoes folded neatly on the table in front of him, but he was wrapped in a bed sheet.   
“We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. So I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” John joked.   
I stood behind the sofa staring, rather disappointedly, at the two men before me.   
“I was working on a case, Mycroft.” Sherlock had lost his humor.  
“What? The hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?” Mycroft was trying to tease him.   
“Transparent.” Sherlock bit back. John looked between the two confused before his gaze settled back to me.   
“Time to move on then.” Mycroft attempted to hand Sherlock his clothing, unsuccessfully.   
“We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.” I said sternly.   
Sherlock looked at me and mocked my tone, “What for?”  
“Your client.”   
Sherlock stood, he was trying to intimidate me, as he so often did when we were children, “And my client is?”  
“Illustrious,” another man’s voice said as he entered the room. “In the extreme. And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous.” I moved closer to the man as did Mycroft. “Mycroft!” He said, extending his hand. After they shook, he turned to me also shaking my hand.   
“Harry.” Mycroft said.   
I was standing next to Mycroft now, closer to the door. “May we apologize for the state of our brother?”   
Harry looked to me, “Full time occupation, I imagine, Ms. Holmes.” He continued to introduce himself to John and told him of his employer’s enjoyment of his blog. “And Mr. Holmes, the younger. You look taller in your photographs.”  
“I take the precaution of a good coat, and a short friend.” He stormed past John and Mycroft. “Mycroft I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases, not both. Too much work.” He looked back to Harry, “Good Morning.”   
As he was walking away I stepped on the tail of his sheet, which he caught in time for it not to be a completely embarrassing event. He looked at me furiously.   
“This is a matter of national importance, now grow up!” I snapped at him.   
“Get off my sheet.” He gritted his teeth.   
“Or what?”   
“Or I’ll walk away.” He threatened.   
“I’ll let you.” I dared.   
“No. No, not here.” John stepped in, breaking our bout of sibling rivalry.   
“Who. Is. My. Client?”   
Mycroft took over, “Take a look at where you are standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God’s sake…” He paused for a moment collecting himself. “Put your clothes on!”  
Sherlock finally agreed, and took his clothes to the nearest bathroom. While he was away, Mycroft and Harry left to fetch someone to make tea for us. John and I were left alone for the first time since the pool.   
“How are you?” He asked.   
“I’m well. Working again, as you can obviously see.” We had gone into not so great detail about my leave from the service. I had told him that Mycroft had sent me into a rather sticky situation where I was captured and tortured for almost a month. “How are you? Sarah?”  
He looked to the floor, “Yeah, I’m good. Sarah and I decided to end things. Danger wasn’t really for her.”  
I smiled apologetically at him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”  
“We miss you, coming ‘round the flat.”   
“We?”  
“Okay, well. Maybe just me, then.”  
Sherlock cleared his throat to announce his return, and shortly after Mycroft and Harry returned with a houseboy and a tray of tea and tea cups in tow. John pulled a chair up for me, noting that there would not be enough room on the two sofa’s for three people.   
“I’ll be mother” Mycroft said after we were all seated as he poured the tea.   
“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock mumbled.   
Mycroft glared at him.   
“My employer has a problem,” Harry chimed in.   
“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.” Mycroft continued.   
“Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?” Sherlock asked,   
“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked him.  
“Not, to date, anyone with a Navy.”  
“This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore trust.” Mycroft added.   
“You don’t trust your own Secret Service?” John asked.   
“Naturally not.” I said, John looking to me. “They all spy on people for money. Isn’t that right brother?”  
Mycroft took the conversation over again, John sent me a questioning look before paying attention. Mycroft opened a briefcase that held a picture of Irene Adler. He handed the photo to Sherlock going into her long history of affairs and political scandals before handing the floor over to me. I had been studying Adler for some time now.   
“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” I began.  
“Professionally?” John asked.   
“There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix’”  
“Dominatrix.” Sherlock tongued the word.   
“Don’t be alarmed. It has to do with sex.” I teased.  
“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Sherlock bit back.  
“How would you know?” The whole room looked at me, Sherlock seeming particularly shocked. “She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing. And are willing to pay for it.” Mycroft handed Sherlock more photos from the briefcase. I continued on, “Those are all from her website.”  
“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.” Sherlock said putting the photos down.  
“You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.” Harry said excitedly.   
“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?”  
“A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say more at this time.” Harry stated.   
“You can’t tell us anything?” John said, setting down his tea.  
We all paused for a moment. “I can tell you it is a young person,” Mycroft broke the silence. “A young female person.”   
Sherlock asked about the photos, how many there were and if Adler and the young female person could be seen together in compromising scenarios. Mycroft assured him of everything we had been told as far as this was concerned.   
“Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.   
“How?” Sherlock returned.  
“Will you take the case?”   
“What case? Pay her. Now and in full. As Ms. Adler remarks in her masthead ‘Know when you are beaten.’” Sherlock Stood reaching for his overcoat.   
“She doesn’t want anything.” I said plainly. “She got in touch. She informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor.”  
Sherlock’s face lit up. He was interested, “Oh a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Oh this is getting fun, isn’t it? Where is she?”  
“London, currently. I’ll text you the details.” I said, standing with the others.   
“I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.” Sherlock begins to walk away.   
Harry calls after him, “Do you really think you’ll have news by then?”  
Sherlock turned back to him smiling, “No. I think I’ll have the photographs.”  
Harry doubted Sherlock. This outwardly displeased Sherlock and the way he looked at him could only mean that he was making a list of deductions about him. After a moment of silence Sherlock informed us that he would need some equipment, then only asking for a box of matches or a lighter. His gaze stopped on Harry, knowing that John, Mycroft, and I were not avid smokers. Harry then insisted that he did not smoke either, leading Sherlock to inform him that his employer did.   
Harry handed Sherlock a lighter, “We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about that little fact, Mr. Holmes.”  
Sherlock pocketed the lighter, “I’m not the commonwealth.” He left the room then.   
John was slightly embarrassed, “And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.” Then the both of them were off, leaving Mycroft and I to apologize for our brother, once again.


	10. Scandal 2

After returning to the office with Mycroft, I went back to business as usual. I had texted Sherlock the address in which he could find Adler. I was hoping he would be successful by the end of the day.   
I was on my way home when I received a call from Greg. I ignored it, but he continued to call until I answered.   
“What?” I answered.   
“It’s Sherlock.” That was all he said before ending the call, knowing that I would be on my way to the flat.  
When I arrived at 221B Baker Street, John was sitting in his chair working on his blog.   
“Hello, John.” I greeted him as I removed my coat.   
Startled, he closed his computer and turned all his attention to me. “Ansley, I didn’t know you were coming.”  
“Greg called. What happened?” I took a seat in Sherlock’s chair.   
John filled me in on how they went to Adler’s and just as Sherlock was about to get the photographs, American agents busted in threatening all of their lives. One had died when Sherlock entered the code to the booby-trapped safe. He explained that while he was checking the back door, Adler had drugged Sherlock and made off with the photographs again.   
“How is he?” I asked. I was upset, but not about the photographs. I knew the Americans were on Irene’s trail, I just hadn’t realized how close they were to her. I had put my brother and John in serious danger.   
“He woke up not long before you got here. I put him back to bed. He’ll be fine in the morning.”  
“That good. I suppose it could have been worse.” John noticed the tension in my voice.   
“I’ll order some take away, get you some clothes and we will watch a movie or something.” He got up and headed toward the stairs, “He will get you those photographs.” He disappeared up the stairs.   
The next morning Mycroft and I took a ride out to Sherlock’s. I knew what John said had happened, but there were still questions unanswered. Questions only Sherlock had the answers to.   
“The photographs are perfectly safe.” Sherlock informed us. He and John were having breakfast when we arrived.   
“In the hands of a fugitive sex worker,” Mycroft barked.   
“She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants … protection for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house.”  
“We have it taken care of, for now.” I assured him.   
“How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.” Mycroft was always rather over dramatic.  
“Shed applaud your choice in words. You see how this works: that camera phone is her “Get out of jail” free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.”  
“Though not the way she treats royalty,” John added with a smile.   
A sounds, as if a woman were climaxing rang through the room. “What was that?” John asked.   
“Text.” Sherlock said standing.   
“Yeah, but what was that noise?” John asked.   
Sherlock read the message before turning to us again, “Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.” Sherlock asked as he found his way back to his seat.   
“Oh yeah, thanks for that Mycroft.” John added.   
“That was my mistake. I didn’t think they had gotten around to finding her yet.” I apologized. They both stared at me.   
Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray of tea and cups. She briefly interacted with us before Mycroft received a phone call. While we were waiting for him to return, John questioned Sherlock on the noise that his phone made. Sherlock was reluctant to talk about it, saying only that he would leave John to make his own deductions.   
“Bonds Air is go, that is decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.” Mycroft ended his phone call, nodding to me to get ready to depart.   
“What else does she have?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft looked at him questioningly. “Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.” He stood, facing Mycroft, searching. “Much more,” Sherlock closed the gap between them, “Something big’s coming, isn’t it?”   
“Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this.” Mycroft instructed. I was a bit shocked.   
“Oh, will I?” Sherlock pushed him.  
“Yes, Sherlock, you will.” Sherlock shrugged and went for his violin. Mycroft motioned for me to come along, “Now if you’ll excuse us, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.”  
“Do give her my love.” Sherlock mused as he began to play “God Save the Queen”. Mycroft hurried away so quickly making me sprint after him.   
Once we were in the car he would say nothing to me except that I would be going back to the office without him. When I asked who was on the phone, he would repeatedly pretend as if he hadn’t heard me. This continued on for several weeks. My files were all confiscated, my knowledge to any whereabouts of Irene had stopped coming, and her name was hardly ever mentioned.   
I had been spending more time at Sherlock’s, with John really, but he was still seeing Jeanette. Sherlock was still receiving those text messages. He was always secretive about them. My money was on Irene, but I knew he would never tell.


	11. Scandal 3

Mrs. Hudson had insisted that we throw a Christmas party. When the night finally came the flat looked better than it had in ages. John and Jeanette had spent a majority of their time hanging fairy lights around the mantelpiece and the windows. We had invited all of our friends, what few friends we had. Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, John, and Jeanette, and of course Sherlock and I.   
Sherlock was playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on the violin. Mrs. Hudson had been drinking since that morning. She was so giddy, smiling at Sherlock. John and Jeanette were in the kitchen getting drinks, arranging snacks, and getting Mrs. Hudson a much needed cup of tea.   
Greg and I were friendly again. After all, it was Christmas. Of course Christmas isn’t anything if Sherlock doesn’t ruin it for someone else. I saw Jeanette offer a mince pie to Sherlock, “No thank you, Sarah.” He said to her.   
John rushed over pulling her away, telling her he was bad with names. Sherlock wouldn’t let that go, “No-no-no I can get this.” Everyone in the room sighed. Jeanette put her tray down and straightened herself in front of Sherlock. “No Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then…” He paused searching, “Who was after the boring teacher?”  
Jeanette looked to the floor, “Nobody.”  
“Jeanette!” Sherlock exclaimed joyously. “Ah, process of elimination.” John was ushering Jeanette to the couch when Sherlock looked to the door, “Oh, dear Lord.” He muttered.   
Molly walked into the flat carrying a couple bags with gifts in them. Her hair was done up lovely. “Hello everyone. Sorry, hello.” She was apologizing for being late. “Er, it said on the door just to come up.” We all begin greeting her. Smiles and nods all around. Except from Sherlock. He was rather irritated. Molly looked to him before shuttering out of her coat and scarf.   
John had come to take her coat and was caught off guard by what had been hiding underneath, “Let me,” he paused quickly, “Holy Mary!”  
Molly was wearing a revealing and snug black dress. None of us had ever seen her in this fashion before. Even Greg was floored and could only manage to whisper “Wow” in approval. Molly was slightly embarrassed by everyone being so surprised by her appearance. “Having a Christmas drinkies, then?” She asked, hoping to change the subject.   
Sherlock sat in front of John’s laptop and kept up his Scrooge like attitude.   
“It’s the one day of the year the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it!” Mrs. Hudson piped up. John brought Molly over a chair before going to see what Sherlock was up to. Greg offered Molly and drink and she struck up a conversation with Mrs. Hudson that led to a horrid post-mortem joke. What more could be expected though?  
Greg came back with a glass of red wine for Molly. “Thank you.” She smiled at him, “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.”  
“That’s first thing in the morning. Me and the wife – we’re back together. It’s all sorted.” Greg explained. Although it wasn’t all sorted. She was cheating on him again.   
As if he had read my mind, as it always was, Sherlock piped up without taking his eyes off the laptop, “No, she’s sleeping with the P.E. teacher.”   
I looked to Greg, he was hurt, but I knew he wouldn’t say anything about it here. He just kept smiling. That was so often his tactic. I grabbed his hand, motioning to the kitchen. I was aiming for him to talk to me, but he just fiddled around that kitchen table, making a drink.  
“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.” Sherlock continued on his rampage to ruin everyone’s night.   
“Sorry, what?” She was taken aback.   
“In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.”  
Greg stormed out of the kitchen, glass in hand, and slammed it down on the table in front of Sherlock, “Shut up and have a drink.”   
Greg didn’t go back to the kitchen and I had already returned to my original spot near the book shelf. Sherlock wasn’t going to stop. He was having a shit time, so everyone else was going to have to as well. He went on and on about how well wrapped that present on top was and how the paper matched the shade of lipstick Molly was wearing. “Either way, Ms. Hooper have lurve on her mind.” He mocked the word love. “The fact that she is serious about him is clear from that fact that she is giving him a gift at all.”  
Molly looked awfully uncomfortable, yet he continued on “That would suggest long term hopes, however forlorn; and that she is seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she is wearing.” He looked smug, picked up the gift and continued his deductions, “Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…” He trailed off. He had opened the tag to the gift. We all knew the way she felt about Sherlock, and the gift, her appearance, had all been for him. Sometimes my genius brother could be a real moron.   
Molly finally fund her voice, “You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.” She almost whispered the last bit as she was trying to hold back tears.   
Sherlock turned to walk away, but then he faced her again, “I am sorry. Forgive me.” He stepped closer to her and kissed her cheek lightly, “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”  
As Sherlock was stepping away from her, his mobile went off making the orgasmic sound. Molly was flushed and insisted that it wasn’t her. Most of us knew it wasn’t. I couldn’t help but feel that was what he had been waiting on.   
“Fifty seven of those texts – the ones that I’ve heard.” John said.   
Sherlock moved to the mantelpiece. “Thrilling you’ve been counting.” He picked up a package and immediately excused himself from the rest of us. He didn’t even want John. Though that didn’t stop him. When Sherlock got into his room, he didn’t close the door all the way. John headed that way, motioning for me to follow.   
He was talking to someone. I assumed it was Mycroft. He told him that he was going to find Irene Adler tonight. “No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.” Sherlock said before hanging up the phone.  
He noticed that we were at the door and came to close it, “Sherlock.” I said and John asked if he was okay. We were met by a simple “Yes” and the door shut in our faces.


	12. Scandal 4

Sherlock left in a hurry when he finally came out of his room. Molly got a call right before that about a body being brought to the morgue. John and I looked at each other, knowing exactly who it was. I called Mycroft but I was told none of this concerned me and that I should stay behind. He then called John and told him to search the flat for any drugs Sherlock may have hidden around.   
John, Jeanette, and Mrs. Hudson searched the flat high and low while I watched them.   
“You could help you know.” John threw a cold look over his shoulder at me.   
“Why? You aren’t going to find anything. You could have days to look. We are better than most at some things, John. The only way you find anything Sherlock has, is if he wanted you to.”  
John’s mobile rang. Mycroft no doubt. “No.” John answered. “Did he take the cigarette?” He waited for an answer. “Shit.” He turned to us, “He’s coming. Ten minutes.”   
Mrs. Hudson came around the corner, John gave her a questioning look, “There’s nothing in the bedroom.” She gave him and apologetic smile.   
“Looks like he is clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight is a danger night?” John continued to Mycroft. “I’ve got plans… Mycroft. My…” He looked at the phone, disappointed before looking to Jeanette on the couch. “I am really sorry.” He started.   
Mrs. Hudson disappeared back into the kitchen to listen in and motioned for me to do the same. Jeanette was upset, understandably so. She told him that he was a great boyfriend and that Sherlock was a lucky man. When it looked like a break up was imminent, John began asking what he could do, that he would do anything for her. She asked him not to make her compete with Sherlock Holmes. He said he would walk her dog. That’s when she stormed down the stairs. She wasn’t the girlfriend that had a dog. The truth was, any regular, boring woman would always compete with Sherlock. John likes danger.   
Mrs. Hudson was the first to leave the kitchen, “That wasn’t very good, was it?”  
John rolled his eyes and Mrs. Hudson took her que to leave. Mycroft sent me a text, instructing me not to leave the flat. Of course I knew that was coming when he told John to stay. It wouldn’t be much longer until Sherlock returned. John opted to read a book and I made myself comfortable on the couch.  
Footsteps came up the stairs. Sherlock stood in the doorway for a moment and looked around. John closed his book and turned around to look at him, “Oh hi.” When Sherlock didn’t answer John asked if he were okay.   
Sherlock turned around and went in through the kitchen door headed for his bedroom, “I hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.” Then he slammed his door.   
John sighed and looked to me. I only shrugged. When John went back to his reading, I went around to the side of the couch and slid a gift from behind it. I startled John when I reached the side of his chair. He looked up at me questioningly, I held the gift out to him.   
“I’m rubbish at this sort of thing, and I didn’t want Jeanette to get the wrong idea. I know how women are.” I was at a loss for words. Something about John was different for me.   
He put his book down and stood placing his hands on the gift, “You didn’t have to get me anything,” He smiled at me as I pushed the box into his hands more.   
“I saw them and they made me think of you.” I was flushed. This was worse than Sherlock’s scene with Molly.   
He opened it and smiled. Inside was a burgundy cardigan and another Christmas jumper. “For next year, maybe.” I was ringing my hands without realizing it.   
“They’re lovely. Thank you Ansley.” I looked up at him and he was looking at both articles of clothing.   
“Glad you like them.” I said about to retreat to my spot on the couch. He grabbed my arm and I stood, waiting for him to speak, but he just looked at me. He leaned in closer to me and kissed my cheek. I felt a bit of relief, but his face lingered so close to mine. Before I realized what was happening, John had moved his mouth onto mine and I was kissing him back.   
The next morning I woke to Sherlock looking out the window and playing his violin. There was breakfast on the table that had been untouched. Sherlock’s, I assumed. John and Mrs. Hudson came into the sitting room at the same time. John was wearing the cardigan I had given him. Mrs. Hudson took the plates into the kitchen and John slid on his coat.   
“You composing?” He asked when Sherlock.   
“It helps me to think.” Sherlock picked his violin up again.   
“What are you thinking about?” John asked.  
I decided it was time for me to go home. I stretched for a moment before heading to the bathroom to change. When I came out John was coming into the kitchen with Mrs. Hudson. He looked to me and motioned me over to them “Listen:” his voice was hushed, “has he ever had any kind of,” he sighed, “girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?” When Mrs. Hudson shrugged, he looked to me.   
“I don’t know. There weren’t any when we were children. And his love life wasn’t exactly mine to keep up with.”  
“How can we not know?” He was frustrated.   
“He’s Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson said, “How will we ever know what goes on in the funny old head?”   
John smiled sadly. He wanted so badly to help him. “Right.” He headed for the door, placing his hand on my shoulder before leaving, “See ya.”   
Mrs. Hudson left shortly after. Sisterly moments were never something I was good at but someone had to try. Mycroft had already texted me asking how he was doing. I went to sit down and he flew past me.   
“Where are you going?”  
“Out.” He slammed the door to his bed room.   
I sat on the couch, flabbergasted by his change in mood. When he came back he went out through the kitchen door. I chased after him. “Can I go?”  
“No. Go home.” He ran outside and left me standing in the stair well. I decided to talk to Mrs. Hudson a bit before I went home, but someone had other plans for us.


	13. Scandal 5

While Mrs. Hudson was making me a plate of the leftover breakfast, we heard pounding noises come from the front door. Before she was able to answer them, the door had been broken in and footsteps were rushing towards me.  
Two of three men all dressed in black came rushing at me from the hallway. I could hear Mrs. Hudson’s screams from the stairwell. When I didn’t cooperate with being grabbed the first time, one of the men hit me in the jaw, causing enough pain for me to go limp for a moment and for them to force me out of the flat. I could see Mrs. Hudson ahead, struggling as the extra man helped heave her up the stairs.  
They pulled us into Sherlock’s flat and began questioning Mrs. Hudson. They were American. The CIA. When Mrs. Hudson didn’t have the answers the boss, Neilson, hit her across the face.   
“You bastard. You don’t hit an elderly woman!” I struggled against the men.   
He moved to in front of me and grabbed my face, “You’d do well to shut the pretty little mouth of yours.” He pushed my head away and paced in front of us. “If you don’t start talking someone is going to get hurt.”  
“We’ve no idea who you are or why you’re here. Maybe it’s you that needs to do the talking.” In that moment his fist collided with the side of my face causing and excruciating amount of pain. I took a moment to collect myself, the grip of the agent holding me got tighter.   
“I told you once, don’t make me tell you again.” He turned when he heard the door open downstairs. His threats hadn’t worked on us, so instead he had the man holding me hold a gun to my head as he did the same to Mrs. Hudson.   
The door opened slowly, and Sherlock walked in just as slow.   
“Oh. Sherlock, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson whimpered.   
“Don’t snivel, Mrs. Hudson. It’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet.” He looked over at me. Now was not the time, but he wasn’t exactly wrong.   
“I believe you have something we want, Mr. Holmes.” Neilson said.  
Sherlock began moving closer to Mrs. Hudson, “Then why don’t you ask for it?” He held out his hand to her, looking over her injuries.   
“I’ve been asking these two. They don’t seem to know anything.” He smiled, “But you know what I’m asking for, don’t you Mr. Holmes?”   
Sherlock left Mrs. Hudson and walked over to me. He turned my head to the side causing me to wince in pain. Sherlock looked at me apologetically, but he knew I was tougher than this. There had been no point in fighting. They had guns and Mrs. Hudson would have been my only back-up.  
Sherlock looked over to Neilson, looking at him for a moment. He moved away from me, “I believe I do.” He straightened himself up and put his hands behind his back, “First, get rid of your boys.”  
“Why?” Neilson asked.   
“I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room.”   
Neilson took a moment, “You two, go to the car.” The man holding me finally let go. I could feel the blood circulating into my arm. My head was pounding.   
“Then get into the car and drive away. Don’t try to trick me. You know who I am, you know it won’t work.” Sherlock said. When the men were gone he continued on, “Next you can stop pointing that gun at me.”  
Nielson smiled, “So you can point a gun at me?”  
Sherlock stepped backward and put his arms up, “I’m unarmed.”  
“Mind if I check?” Neilson asked, coming around Mrs. Hudson.   
“Oh, I insist.” Sherlock smiled.  
Neilson positioned himself behind Sherlock and began patting him down. Sherlock took a moment before grabbing the can of sanitary spray that was on the table and sprayed it in Neilson’s eyes. He head butted him causing his to fall onto the table behind them. Sherlock rushed over to Mrs. Hudson and was calming her. He looked over to me.   
“Are you all right?” He asked. I nodded and made my way to his chair.   
Sherlock tied up and taped Neilson to the same chair he had confined Mrs. Hudson to. Mrs. Hudson and I were both sitting on the sofa. I had ice for the left side of my face.   
We heard footsteps making their way up to the flat. John appeared in the door way and looked around, “What’s going on.” He got a look at a bloodied Neilson, “Jeez. What the hell is happening?”  
“Mrs. Hudson and Ansley have been attacked by an American. I’m restoring balance to the universe.” Sherlock was making a call and had Nielson’s gun pointed at a now awake Neilson.   
John rushed over to the sofa and sat between us. “Oh, Mrs. Hudson, my God. Are you all right?” Mrs. Hudson started crying again and John pulled her closer to him and placed a reassuring hand on my leg.   
Sherlock stood, moving closer to Neilson. “Downstairs. Take them downstairs and look after them.”   
John stood up and helped Mrs. Hudson up, he went to help me, but I was already standing when he turned around. He motioned for me to go in front of him, “All right, I’m going to have a look at those.” I helped Mrs. Hudson downstairs, noticing that John had stayed behind.   
He joined us a little later. I had already taken care of Mrs. Hudson’s face. She insisted that I was fussing over her too much. He looked at me and motioned for me to join him at the sink, “This,” he moved my hair away from my eye, “doesn’t look good.” He took the antiseptic and started working on my face.   
We heard something hit the bins outside. When we looked, Nielson was splayed out. John and I looked at each other. He shrugged and went back to messing about with my wounds. “Is that the CIA?”  
I nodded. “They knew Sherlock had the phone.”  
“She’s alive.” John turned my face, “Anyone who would do this to you and poor Mrs. Hudson deserves anything he gets.”  
“Adler is alive?” I jerked my head back to look at him.   
“Yeah. Sherlock knows.”   
“That’s where he went..”   
Time passed with Mrs. Hudson fussing over making dinner, though I don’t think any of us were really hungry. John made me lay down on Mrs. Hudson’s sofa and we waited for Sherlock. We could see the lights from the police cars arriving. Greg texted me that he would like to see me. Tonight, however, was not the night.   
John and Mrs. Hudson were sitting at the table having some tea when Sherlock rejoined us.   
“They’ll have to stay with us tonight, so we can look after them.” John told him.  
“Of course, but they’re fine.” Sherlock said.  
“No they aren’t. Look at them.” John argued. Sherlock peered around to both of us before he looked into the fridge, finding what was left of dinner.   
“Mrs. Hudson has to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders.” John told him. I joined them in the kitchen.   
“Don’t be absurd.” Sherlock argued.   
“She’s in shock, for God’s sake, and all over some bloody camera phone. Where is it anyway?”  
“Safest place I know.” Sherlock and I both smiled at Mrs. Hudson.   
She dug into her bra pulling out the phone, “You left it in the pocket of your second best dressing gown, you clot.” She laughed, “I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was have a cry.”  
Sherlock smiled at John and put the phone in his pocket, “Thank you. Shame on you John Watson.” He teased.   
“Shame on me?!” He was appalled.   
“Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street?” Sherlock placed a tender arm around Mrs. Hudson.  
“England would fall.” I smiled at her.   
Mrs. Hudson insisted on staying downstairs. We left her to go to bed, and Sherlock went up ahead of John and I.   
“Will you stay, then?” He asked.   
“No, John. It’s time for me to go home.” I smiled at him, he looked at the floor.   
“I really don’t think…”   
“I’ve had much worse. I am fine. Go. Rest. I’ll let you know I’ve made it home.” I cut him off. He nodded to me and I kissed his cheek, “Happy New Year, John Watson.”


	14. Scandal 6

Months were passing like minutes, and even though I was meant to be his right hand, Mycroft still wouldn’t let me in on the secrets he had been holding. Following suit, I hadn’t told him that Irene Adler was still alive or that Sherlock was in possession of her camera phone.   
Finally something changed. John had texted me about Irene showing up at their flat, going on about an email that one of her clients had said was going to save the world. The same day Mycroft decided to let me in.   
“I’ve received a rather disturbing text message,” he began. “When I informed Sherlock to leave Irene Adler alone, I had received a phone call about Bond air. I suspect you don’t know what this is.” He left me no time to speak, “Irene Adler is alive, I had preferred you told me, but you’ve always had a soft spot for Sherlock.” He looked at me, giving permission for me to speak.   
“There are many things you should have told me, Mycroft. What’s happened?”  
“We were informed of a terrorist group placing a bomb on a plan. Naturally, I devised a solution.” He began laying photographs of a 747 Jet in front of me, along with photographs of several deceased men and women. “The plane would fly, the bomb would detonate. The terrorists would have gotten their way and there would have been hundreds of casualties without an actual casualty.”  
“Would?” I met his cold stare.   
“Yes, would. Our MOD enjoyed the company of Ms. Adler, but you should have known that. He showed her the email, she got a picture. The reason both the British and American Governments were after her. The plan is off. The terrorists know that we know. Now, take this ticket and send for your beloved brother. We will meet him at Heathrow.”  
“Mycroft…” I was defeated.   
“Go.” He placed an envelope in front of me and turned his back.   
Once I was back in my office, I arranged for Plummer to pick him up again, as I had to collect him for the palace. I then joined Mycroft for a silent car ride.   
When we arrived, Nielson was present. He greeted Mycroft and apologized to me for the confusion, stating that if he had known I was the sister, he wouldn’t have touched me.   
“You stay.” Mycroft instructed, “Make sure to send Sherlock up without delay.”  
A short while later a car pulled up containing Sherlock. He was initially surprised to see Neilson. “Well you’re lookin’ all better. How ya feelin’?” He asked in his incredibly fake American accent.   
Neilson was less than impressed, “Like putting a bullet in your brain,” He paused for a moment, “Sir.” Sherlock gave an amused smile and continued up the stairs. “They’d pin a metal on me if I did.” Neilson continued, “Sir..”   
Once Sherlock disappeared into the plane I turned to Neilson, “I don’t think they would, sir. I know someone who would personally put a bullet in yours for even threatening that man.” I remained silent.   
Another car pulled up, one I hadn’t been expecting. Nielson looked over to me, “We are to escort her inside.”  
From the car stepped the one and only Irene Adler. She sauntered over to us, a full smile on her face. “Ms. Holmes, I had often wondered if I’d ever meet the woman that has so much research on me.”   
Neilson directed her up the stairs, following behind her, leaving me to bring up the rear.   
“Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?” Mycroft was asking Sherlock as we entered the cabin.   
“I think it was less than five seconds.” The sound of Irene’s voice made Sherlock’s head turn in our direction.   
Mycroft began to apologize, “I drove you onto her path. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”   
Irene moved closer to Sherlock, “Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.”  
“So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on.” Sherlock answered.   
She moved past him, “Not you, Junior. You’re done now.” She moved closer to Mycroft, holding up her mobile, “There’s more… Loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.”   
Mycroft shifted uncomfortably before instructing everyone to exit the jet. Mycroft had a car waiting outside for us. Neilson was shooed away and the rest of us were taken back to the office. No one spoke. I sat between Adler and Sherlock, feeling every inch of tension that was being let off.   
We were all seated in the sitting area of Mycroft’s far too large office. The silence was uncomfortable. Mycroft and Adler sat at a table with the mobile sitting directly in front of him, Sherlock was watching the fire and I was in the corner, behaving as a scolded child.   
“We have people who can get into this.” Mycroft touched the phone.   
“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try for six months.” She smiled, Sherlock looked betrayed. “Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone.”  
“There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.” He refused to look at anyone.   
“Explosive. It’s more me.” She smiled at Mycroft again.   
The conversation drifted on and on. Mycroft threatened torture, she had an out. He suggested riding the files, she insists that lives were at stake for her information. She gave a list of demands and ideas for protection. “You’ve been very,” Mycroft paused. “Thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.” He threw a cold look my way.   
“I can’t take all the credit. Had a bit of help.” She looked over to Sherlock, “Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.”  
“Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention. Which I’m sure can be arranged.” Mycroft stated nonchalantly.   
Irene raised from her seat and walked around to sit on the edge of the table in front of Mycroft. “I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice on how to play the Holmes siblings. D’you know what he calls you? The Ice Man,” She said to Mycroft before looking to Sherlock, “The Virgin,” finally her gaze fixed on me, “And the Whore.”   
Her words were meant to hurt us, but if there was one thing we Holmes children were good at, it was being able to cut off our emotions.   
Mycroft was about to give in, letting her win this very elaborate game when Sherlock stopped them. He went onto an explanation about how she had played the game, but she was having too much fun. Sentiment would be her downfall. She did love Sherlock no matter how hard she tried to hide it. In the end, she let her heart rule her head.   
The password had been discovered. “S.H.E.R.” Every secret, and all her protection were now gone. She had nothing, and she knew she wouldn’t survive much longer. Sherlock turned the phone over to Mycroft apologizing for any inconvenience. After his departure, we opted to let Ms. Adler go make her way through the world again.   
Mycroft called me into his office some months later, “You are to meet John Watson at Speedy’s Café and inform him of Ms. Adler’s current situation. Then you can decide whether you will tell Sherlock or whether you would like for John to tell him. Either way, get it done.” He was still refusing to look at me directly. A small part of me felt that he was regretting his decision to not terminate my employment when he found out that I knew Adler was still alive.   
It was raining when I arrived at Speedy’s. I had told John to meet me outside. When he finally showed up, he was soaked.   
“Hello.” He greeted me, before opening the door for me.   
When we were inside, I placed the file I had been holding on the table in front of me.  
“The file on Irene Adler?” John guessed.   
“Closed forever. I have been instructed to inform my brother that she somehow got herself wrapped up in a witness protection scheme in America. She has a new name, new identity. She will survive, and thrive no doubt. He, however, will never see her again.”  
John looked at me confused, “Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Wont even mention her by name. Just calls her ‘The Woman’ which you would know if you ever came ‘round anymore.” He looked away.   
“Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind; the one woman who matters.” I asked.   
He looked back at me with disbelief, “He’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way… I think.”   
“I’ve been in love before, John. I know what it looks like. My brother may have the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, but he chose to be a detective. What could be deduced about his heart?” My gaze met John’s but only for a moment.  
“I don’t know.” John sighed before looking up again, “He’ll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. He’ll be fine.”   
“I agree. That’s why I’ve decided to tell him that.”   
“John furrowed his brow, “Instead of what?”  
An apologetic smile unwillingly crossed my face, “She’s dead. Captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded.”  
John looked at me, shocked. He cleared his throat, but I cut him off before he could say anything, “My team was much more thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool us, but sadly, he wasn’t on hand.”  
We both looked at the file, John slid it to himself, “I’ll do it. I’ll bring the file when it is done.” I nodded and smiled at him. He left without a goodbye.


	15. Baskerville 1

Sherlock had been hiding something. John said it took the news all too well. He knew John was lying, he would have to know. Yet he hadn’t called or texted any absurd theories. Though it had been weeks since everything had been sorted out with the Adler case, Mycroft still didn’t trust me. He had refused to relieve me of my duties, placing me on what was supposed to be a short probation period.   
“Just one holiday. That’s all I’m asking for.” Greg pleaded as he crawled back into bed.   
“I can’t. You know I can’t. Mycroft has someone watching me as soon as I leave my flat. Besides,” I smiled and kissed him, “holidays are for couples and we are not a couple.”   
He began kissing from my lips to my collar bone, “We could be.” He would mumble between kisses.   
The rest of the night was spent absolutely not talking about a holiday or our couple status, or lack thereof. The next morning I woke to Greg’s whole hearted attempt to make us breakfast. We had only recently began seeing each other again. He had caught his wife with the P.E. teacher she worked with as Sherlock had told him at Christmas. He swore they were finished, but I didn’t believe him.   
John had texted, he was texting me more and more these days. Persuading me to come to the flat and visit Sherlock. He said he hadn’t been himself, refusing almost every case that came through the door. Per Mycroft’s orders, after what happened last time, I wasn’t allowed to help them with any cases any longer. If he could stop me from seeing Sherlock all together, he would.   
“John wants me to come round the flat to check on Sherlock.” I said as I walked up behind Greg.   
“Oh? You and Watson are rather friendly, eh?” He was jealous.  
“Don’t start. You know there is nothing going on there. And even if there were I wouldn’t tell you about it.” I smiled at him, knowing the last bit had been a joke. I enjoyed watching him squirm in irritation.   
He turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, “Keep it up, Holmes. I’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”  
My mobile began to ring interrupting the moment. It was John.   
“Hello, John.”   
“We have a rather interesting case. Would you be interested?”   
“I can’t. The British Government forbade me from working with you and Sherlock.” I felt like I was constantly repeating myself.   
“Mycroft will really know if you help us? Is that why you won’t come to the flat?” John asked mockingly.  
“Yes and yes. I’ve got to go.” I hung up the phone rather quickly.   
The next weeks bared no better that the previous. Tedious tasks with no sign of an end to this probation in sight. I was constantly followed which made me almost not want to leave my flat. One day that all changed. Mycroft called me into his office instead of emailing me as usual.   
“Ansley.” Mycroft said with a smile, “Have a seat. We have a great deal to discuss.”  
Over the course of two hours, Mycroft informed me that deliberations from the boards had been going on for some months. They were trying to figure out what to do with me. Sherlock had been a mere blip on their radar. I, however, had been working hand in hand with the one man who practically ran everything.   
“You withheld information that could have been detrimental to the Government. You lied and now you must pay for your deceit. The boards have decided that your employment be terminated immediately.” His smile had dissipated. “It was regretful for me to get this information. It is even more regretful that I have to let you go. You could have flourished, I had you in mind to take over for me one day. As of now, you no longer work for the British government and your time of probation is over.” Mycroft held his hand out requesting my badge.   
I stood and removed my badge, “Thank you for the opportunity, Mycroft. I’m sorry to have let you down. I just wanted to protect him.”  
“That was always your downfall, Ansley. He can protect himself. After all, he is the only person he really cares about.”  
When I left the office, I was a bit more devastated than I had thought I would be. Working for Mycroft was no walk in the park, but that much power and authority was worth it. I decided to text Greg on my way home. “Holiday? Yes.”   
“Baskerville?” I asked a bit confused.   
“Yeah, there is a quiet inn and we can go on tours for the Hound of Hell. It’ll be fun. I booked us a room. We leave tomorrow.” Greg was so excited.   
I slept on the way to Baskerville, getting no sleep the night before because Greg was so excited about our first holiday together. I had neglected to tell him of my termination. I just wanted to have fun and to get my mind off of everything.   
“We’re here.” Greg woke me up as he pulled up to a row of buildings. “I’ll get the bags if you check us in with the front desk.” He smiled brightly at me. I nodded.   
Once we were all checked in, Greg led us down the street some to a pub for some lunch. On the walk we heard talk of the great Sherlock Holmes being in the area. “This will be interesting then,” I said.  
“I’m sure we won’t run into him.” Greg assured me.   
I was sitting at a table as Greg stayed at the counter waiting for our order. Then I heard the voice I knew all too well.   
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock’s voice boomed. He was storming into the pub.  
“Well, nice to see you too.” Greg answered, “I’m on holiday, would you believe?”   
“No I wouldn’t.” Sherlock said bluntly.   
The voice I knew was coming next walked through the door, “Greg!” John greeted him.   
“Hello, John.” Greg smiled back at him. “I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?”  
“I’m waiting on an explanation, Inspector.” He slowed his speech down. “Why are you here?”  
Greg was getting irritated, “I’ve told you: I’m on holiday.”  
“You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from your ‘holidays’.” Sherlock snapped back.   
“Yeah, well I fancied another one.” Greg said nonchalantly.  
“Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?” Sherlock laughed, Greg tried to argue but was cut off abruptly. “Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends my handler down to,” he stumbled, “to spy on me incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg?”  
“That’s his name.” John piped up.  
Sherlock looked defeated, “Is it?”  
Greg was served our drinks and took a sip of his. I stood behind the men, “Yes – If you’d ever bother to find out,” Sherlock and John spun around, eying me suspiciously, “And he isn’t your handler. He doesn’t do everything our brother tells him.”   
“So he sent you instead.” He looked over me and my choice in clothing, not what I would normally wear if I were on business. “No. Why are you here then?”   
I smiled, “I’m on holiday.” I leaned between the two and grabbed the glass of wine Greg was handing to me.   
John went silent for a while looking very confused. When he had worked everything out he spoke up, “Actually, they might just be the pair we want.”   
“Why?” Sherlock asked.  
“Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock.” John dug in his pants pocket pulling out a receipt. “That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.”   
“Excellent.” Sherlock boasted.   
John looked at Greg, “Nice, scary inspector from Scottland Yard, and equally scary Government Official, who can put in a few calls may come in handy.”  
“No, not me. I don’t work for the Government any longer. Greg can help you.” I chimed in.   
They all looked at me confused. I waved them off, leading the way out of the pub.


End file.
